


let's finish what we started

by dizzyondreams



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, after thomas shows up but before everything start's going to shit, did i mention.. fluff, like this is the fluffiest thing you will ever lay your eyes on i guarantee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:09:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4442372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzyondreams/pseuds/dizzyondreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They rarely found a quiet day in the Glade, anymore. Not since everything around them had started falling down around their ears, day by day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let's finish what we started

They rarely found a quiet day in the Glade, anymore. Not since everything around them had started falling down around their ears, day by day. 

The two of them managed to carve out quiet moments in their daily routines, a quick lunch together while running the maze, Minho’s wide shoulder pressed to his as they sat against a wall in companionable silence. The careful way he would rub the ache from Thomas’ muscles after a long, hard day of running nowhere, finding nothing new. Showers together where Thomas would find himself pressed to the cold tile, Minho’s lips at his throat and his hand between his legs, the lukewarm water washing their long and fruitless day from their skin. 

Right now was one of those moments, caught in that liminal period of time that came after returning from the maze and before dinner. The light cast long shadows across the grass, and Thomas stood nine feet tall in his shadow, casting Minho in the darkness of his body. Thomas could feel the warm evening sun on the nape of his neck, and rolled his head back and smiled into the hazy purple sky. The evening felt fresh and full of promise. Standing here, a towering shadow spread out across the grass, Thomas felt a tiny spark of hope that perhaps _tomorrow_ would be the day they find it. That elusive _it_ , it meaning escape, rescue, answers. 

“Get down here, ya idiot.” Minho interrupted his thoughts, and yanked him down by his wrist to leave him sprawled half-across Minho’s broad chest. “Always daydreamin’.” He muttered, pushing Thomas off of him onto the cool grass.

“Not a lot else left to do ‘round here but daydream.” Thomas said, repositioning himself with his head on Minho’s thighs. Minho chuckled and brushed some hair back from Thomas’ forehead, a surprisingly tender gesture. Thomas leaned into it.

“Obviously I haven’t been working you hard enough then.” He said, leaning back on one hand and tipping his face up to the sun. Their evenings were normally spent in close, bone-tired quiet, the steady rise and fall of Minho’s breathing lulling Thomas off into a half doze in the warm sun. His calves ached from running, the arches of his feet, tendons in the back of his knees. He wondered idly if he could coax Minho to rub the aches from his legs later, when they were curled up in their beds. A blister on his heel throbbed in time with his heart beat, and clumsily, Thomas kicked his shoes off and sighed at the feet of cool grass between his toes.

“I think you’ve been working me more than enough.” Thomas mumbled, a delayed reply, and he felt rather than heard Minho’s amused snort. He felt the corner of his mouth lift up in amusement, and rolled his head to peek up at Minho. 

He looked cast in bronze in the setting sun, silhouetted against the evening sky. When he noticed Thomas looking he smiled, and his hand stilled in his repetitive combing of Thomas’ hair. “What’re you looking at?” He teased, and Thomas just rolled his eyes and turned his head away, but not before Minho cupped his jaw in his big, work-roughened hands. 

“Looking at you, idiot.” Thomas mumbled, trying to turn away from Minho’s amused scrutiny and failing. He made a sound of surprise as Minho bent forward to press a kiss to his lips, quick and fleeting, before he sat back as if nothing had happened. “Hey.” Thomas said, tapping the back of his hand against Minho’s chest. “Hey, don’t leave a guy hanging.” 

“Go back to sleep.” Minho said, grinning. Thomas huffed and tapped his chest again to no avail. “Don’t make me come down there.” Minho added, mock threatening, and Thomas found himself smiling.

“That’s what I’m tryna do!” He cried, and made a small sound of triumph when Minho leant down again a kissed him properly this time. He tasted like the apple they’d shared before leaving the maze, like salt as he rolled his tongue over Minho’s lower lip before nipping at it gently.

“Hey.” Minho murmured against his mouth, and Thomas made a questioning noise as he tilted his head up to catch Minho’s lips again. “Hey.” Minho repeated, breaking away a little and chuckling. Thomas dropped his head back to Minho’s thighs again, trying to look as heartbroken and dejected as possible.

“What.” He muttered, the distance between their mouths still too close and intimate for anything louder. He felt lightheaded from the taste of Minho’s mouth, hazy and near-dizzy from the attention. 

“Maybe we should stop making out like a couple of kids before Newt notices and never lets us live it down.” He suggested, the corner of his mouth quirking up when Thomas snorted and turned his head away. He still felt a little punch-drunk, cleared his throat a couple times and sternly told himself to get a grip.

“I don’t care if Newt notices.” He said eventually. 

“Neither do I.” Minho said with a sigh as he settled back, face tipped up towards the sky. “But I care if Gally notices, and starts giving me even more shit about favouritism.”

“What,” Thomas murmured slyly, slinging an arm across his eyes. “You telling me I’m your _favourite?_ ” 

“What makes you think that?” Minho shot back, voice laced with amusement. Thomas just grinned in reply, and melted under Minho’s touch as he went back to running his fingers through Thomas’ hair.

The sounds of the glade filtered through to their little bubble, voices talking and shouting, the clang of tools and the soft clucking of chickens. For once since he’d been pulled out of that box, Thomas felt content. The usual coil of anxiety in his stomach had unwound, pulled loose by familiarity and the firm, always surprisingly gentle touch of Minho’s hands. He pulled Minho’s hand from his hair and brought it to rest on his chest, intertwined their fingers over the steady thump of his heart. There was a certain air of peace about the glade, one that rested heavy in his tired bones and made his heart beat slow, made him hyper aware of the points of warmth from the sun on his exposed skin, the way Minho’s thumb stroked over the back of his hand.

“D’you think we’ll ever find the way out?” He mumbled, and Minho was still and quiet for a moment before his thumb resumed its slow circling on the back of Thomas’ hand. 

“I don’t know.” He said finally, words tight and clipped as if they were forced from him. “But we’ll keep looking until we do.”

“I wonder what’ll happen if we never find it.” Thomas mused. His past was a well of black behind him, and the future was anything but certain, but he supposed if he had to spend the rest of his life like this, it wouldn’t be too bad.

They fell silent to listen to the sounds of the walls grinding shut for the night, and when Thomas cracked his eyes open the evening had darkened around them, a chill on the air that tugged at something vague in the recesses of Thomas’ mind. 

“Then we’ll be stuck in this place and run the maze until our knees give out.” Minho replied, and Thomas squinted up at him as he tried to decipher whether he was joking or not. At his questioning look, Minho snorted. “We’ll find the way out.” He released Thomas’ hand to poke him in the chest. “You’re the gamechanger, right?” 

Thomas scoffed and rolled his eyes, swatting Minho’s finger away before sitting up, stretching his arms above his head and groaning at his sore muscles protested. Minho nudged his knee with his foot, and Thomas shot him a grin before shuffling closer. 

“C’mere.” He mumbled, reaching towards Minho, who gazed at him, steady as ever. Thomas always marvelled over how solid Minho always was, besides the physical, of course. Dependable and strong, unmoving. Stubborn, Thomas supposed. 

He pressed his thumb to the fat of Minho’s lower lip, let it skate down to his jaw, down his throat. Minho’s eyes stayed heavy on him, flat black in the dim light. Thomas skimmed over his broad shoulders, his thick biceps, before tangling their fingers together and tugging him forward lightly. 

Perhaps there was something juvenile about this, stealing kisses in the soft light of evening, Minho’s hand steady on his jaw and his lips soft against his own. Bumping noses and those close half kiss, half smiles, teeth bumping together and the thrill of Minho’s tongue against his own. Thomas pressed his nose to Minho’s cheek, catching his breath as Minho’s hand slid to cup the nape of his neck, draw him even closer until he wasn’t sure who’s breath was who’s.

“Maybe we should get to dinner.” Minho murmured, voice so oddly soft that Thomas let his eyes flutter shut to savour it. Minho was barely ever soft, and Thomas loved having it to himself. He pressed his forehead to Minho’s, so many unspoken words blocking his throat that he kissed him again just to forget them.

“Yeah, they probably think a Griever got us, huh?” Thomas murmured, pulling away with difficulty and pushing Minho back a little with a hand on his broad chest.

Minho hummed thoughtfully as he got to his feet, sticking out a hand for Thomas to grasp. He pulled Thomas to his chest as he pulled him up, and Thomas felt a little dumb for feeling his face go hot pressed against Minho’s chest like that.

“Leave off.” He mumbled, stepping away and stumbling a little, like he was drunk off of Newt’s horrible booze. Minho just laughed and caught him around the waist, laughed louder when Thomas grumbled at him and smacked his hands away. “You’re a lech.” He sniped, secretly pleased.

“I’ll live.” Minho said with an air of satisfaction, and bumped his shoulder against Thomas’ as they walked together towards the distant lights of the Homestead.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first maze runner fic ! prompted by some truly inspiring headcanon jams with ana (ty ana)
> 
> hope u enjoy! comments are always appreciated :^)


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